


In the Dark

by alittlebriton



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlebriton/pseuds/alittlebriton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU after S4 and Sark's escape</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark

She feels the bullet before she hears the shot. The sound bounces around the cavernous warehouse as if to reinforce her stupidity. Never let your guard down…always check your blind spots…trust no one, least of all yourself. The CIA’s platitudes spin round her head, mocking her for forgetting. Sydney clutches her stomach as she slides down the wall, smearing blood behind her with her body. She idly wonders who will clear that up after, his people or hers.  
  
Footsteps approach from the right, and she doesn’t have to turn her head to know who has just shot her. She recognises the gait, the steadiness of an arrogant killer who knows he’s just found his mark. Sometimes she thinks he must have been trained to walk like that. Less predatory than her mother’s walk, but the foundations are similar. She stares t the pair of black leather shoes in front of her, and notices how unremarkable they are. A lot of money put into being average, to go unnoticed. She’s sick of the world of pretence.  
  
“You won’t have to worry about that much longer.” Sydney lifts her eyes to his, startled by the fact she spoke aloud. Startled by his flat reply, as if ordering coffee. He drops to a crouch and grabs her jaw in his gloved hand. For the cold or to leave no fingerprints? It doesn’t matter anyway. There are many people who wish to kill her but few who have the skill. They’ll come after him no matter what. He’s studying her with his calm eyes. Dead eyes. She has to know.  
  
“Do you take pleasure in this?” Words thrown out through gritted teeth.  
  
“Do you think I normally take pleasure in the kill?”   
  
“Of course. I’ve watched you.”  
  
“Strange, then, that you didn’t see this coming.” His voice is mild, but she can hear the reprimand. And the bait.  
  
“Everyone’s allowed an off day.”  
  
“Not in this line of work.”  
  
“Do you take pleasure in this?” She repeats herself, voice weak at the end, feeling the cold spread.  
  
“No.” His reply is emotionless, eyes still watching her. She knows he’s calculating the minutes until the fades, as she is. A stomach wound takes a while to kill you. A human body has a lot of blood, and it shuts down to make sure that organs get the necessary amount to function. Unless a vital organ is hit, she’ll have hours. Time enough for truth. She wonders if he’ll wait with her.   
  
“Are you going to wait with me?” No need to beat around the bush.  
  
“Perhaps. You have hours you know, and as much as you are an entertaining conversationalist, discourse with the dead is a little morbid, even for me.” He rocks on his heels, amused at her brazenness.  
  
“Is this personal? Or have you found a new employer?”  
  
“That would be telling, Sydney.” He brushes the hair out of her face, and his gaze suddenly turns sympathetic.  
  
“This has nothing to do with Irina, in case you were wondering.” She manages a laugh at this.  
  
“Actually, that thought had never crossed my mind. I know my mother. She wouldn’t send you to kill me. She would have the guts to do it herself, if she wanted to.”  
  
“True.” He grins at her, and his face is transformed from the icy assassin mask to something more normal. Genuine. And terror joins the cold creeping across her chest.  
  
“I don’t know if I want my last moments on this earth to be spent with you.” Her voice doesn’t tremble, and for that she thanks her training.  
  
“I suppose you wanted to die in bed surrounded by fat grandchildren” he mocks her.  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“Sydney, you know as well as I do that that would never happen. Not to us. We chose this life, but we don’t get to choose our death. Not if the right price changes hands.”  
  
She sits in silence. The blood pooling in her lap is cooling, and making her trousers sticky. But she doesn’t move. It would only quicken the process, and she has to hold out some hope that someone will find her. Her father knows she’s here. He’ll get worried when she doesn’t report in. Too bad this warehouse is thick enough to make her comms dead and useless.  
  
He’s still watching her, eyes interested in what’s happening to her body. No one really gets to watch someone die slowly by their own hand. Either they kill quickly or they don’t wait around to find out what happens next. She is careful not to mistake his interest for concern.  
  
“My dad will find you, you know.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And my mom. They’ll kill you slowly.”  
  
“Yes.” His tone is accepting.  
  
“So why? You have always had such a desire for your own survival.”  
  
“Because sometimes what you do is self-defeating. Self destructive. Does it really matter why you are dying? Everyone dies, Sydney.”  
  
“Fair point.” Her voice is very weak now. She has given up. It hurts, and she doesn’t really care about the who and the why: the how is pretty much occupying her thoughts.  
  
“You used to say we were destined to work together. Do something for me now.”  
  
“A last request? I’ve never had one of those before.” His voice is light and mocking again, and she wishes she had the strength to hit him one last time.  
  
“End it.” She looks at him and his eyes flick to hers, uncertain and full of surprise.  
  
“End it like it should be ended. You should at least grant me that.”  
  
She watches him as he chews his lip, thinking it over.  
  
“All right. I always admired you, you know that. But if it has to be like this, then it has to be like this.” He inclines his head and kisses her on the mouth, lips sweet and soft, forgiving. Her own angel of death. He pulls back, stands up, and raises the gun. Perfect aim between her eyes.  
  
She nods. And the rest is darkness.  
  
Sark stares at her body. He doesn’t flinch when footsteps echo in the room, and a hand grazes his shoulder.  
  
“Well done, Sark. Just as I asked.”  
  
“And did you find Agent Vaughn as simple?”  
  
“Of course. Far too trusting, both of them.”  
  
“You have your closure now, Olivia. But it won’t bring her back.”  
  
“That’s not what I paid you for.”  
  
“No.” He is silent, still looking at Sydney and what used to be her. Blood staining her pale face, matting in her hair. He was dead a long time ago, and she knew that.  
  
“We’re finished. The CIA will be here soon, Sark.”  
  
“Yes, they will” he says, almost to himself.  
  
“Olivia”, he says louder, “you never allowed me my own closure.” And she looks at him in surprise and then realisation as he pulls the trigger twice. She crumples down next to Sydney, blood mingling on the floor.  
  
“Now we are finished.” And he steps over her body and into the light of the door. He will disappear, he always does. He hopes he will be as stubborn as Sydney when her father catches up with him. He is sure it will be Jack. He’s not so sure about his own bravery. But then, Irina always taught him that truth takes time, and he is sure Jack will make it slow enough for him to find out.


End file.
